


In My Veins

by anexorcist



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anexorcist/pseuds/anexorcist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the living room on the couch, Jason fits himself into the space between Tim’s legs, easy and familiar, and they kiss lazily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryssabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/gifts).



The white light of snow and approaching morning slants in through the window in the kitchen, illuminating parts of the still dark apartment. It leaves its occupants in a blue-gray shadow like a blanket’s been draped over them, and they’re hiding from the rest of the world.

There’s a trail of black and red, Kevlar and leather, leading from the bedroom window to the walk-in closet, where sleep clothes have been strewn and piled up. Red Hood’s helmet gazes emptily on their bed, and Red Robin’s costume is folded neatly next to it.

In the living room on the couch, Jason fits himself into the space between Tim’s legs, easy and familiar, and they kiss lazily. Their bones feel like jelly, and they’ve been like this since the moon set— peaceful and loose against each other.

The wet noise of their lips parting is pleasant, and when Jason moves back and lays down, Tim cradles his head on his chest. He cards his fingers through his hair and tugs on the strip of white in the front. He squeezes Jason’s hair close to the scalp because he remembers how good it feels when Jason returns the favor.

A groan draws out of Jason’s mouth as he sinks into the pleasure, and Tim can feel the warmth of his breath through his shirt. Jason balances on his chin, and the way it vibrates when he speaks almost tickles.

“Tim,” he says, like a question. “Tim.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but Tim hums anyway just in case Jason thinks too hard about it later.

He lifts Tim’s shirt, slides his palm against skin pale as the snow outside, save for the yellow and pink of old and new scars, the purple and green of fading bruises.

Tim’s breath hitches when blunt nails scratch against the light trail of hair peeking out from the top of his jeans, and he sighs when Jason kisses up his belly, up his chest until he reaches Tim’s shirt where it’s rucked up against his neck.

With his head under Tim’s shirt, he bites and kisses and breathes against his collar bones. The seams of Tim’s mind slowly come apart under Jason’s hands and mouth and the searing heat of his body, burning him the way a freshly brewed cup of coffee does.

Tim pushes up one of Jason’s sleeves and lays his hand on his bare arm, encouraging him, and holding on for his own sake. His other hand plays with the dark brown, almost black, hair peeking out from his shirt collar, and they’re both slow and lazy in their movements, in their moans and their sighs, like there’s lead in their bones and they’re sinking into the sea. If they stay here for another day the couch will swallow them up, leaving nothing but an echo of their existence.

_Thank you._

Jason doesn’t say it, never does, but his lips press it into Tim’s skin, his hands trace it over his scars. He comes out from under Tim’s shirt and catches his gaze. Strong, calloused hands tug gently at his belt loops.

“Do it,” Tim pants, nodding. “I want you to,  _please_.”

His voice is cracked, unused, and he’s thirsty, so Jason leans forward and kisses him, licks his lips open and makes Tim drink down all the unsaid words and unmade promises he has to offer.

Tim’s breathing quickens as the sound of his zipper slowly being undone rattles too loudly in their little apartment. His whole body trembles with desire, and when his eyes dart from the ceiling back to Jason, his mouth goes dry at how gentle Jason’s eyes are. Smooth, turquoise pebbles, and Tim sinks with them to the bottom of a well, to the farthest depths of the ocean, where the pressure’s too much to breathe or blink or look away.

Jason pulls him out of his pants carefully, and it’s the softness Tim can’t take. It’s the lack of scathing words and bitten down hisses, and his heart almost aches that he won’t have bruises shaped like Jason’s hands tomorrow.

But Tim knows— that sometimes this is what Jason needs, this peace and quiet to drown out the bubbling green cries inside him. To forget hyena laughter and the  _tic-tic-tic_  of a clock counting down, he needs Tim’s sighs and and the tips of his fingers against his temple. He needs lying around on a Sunday morning and burying his head between Tim’s side and the back of the couch. He needs the mingling of tea and coffee in the air, the bittersweet taste of Tim’s lips, and the salty-sweet taste of him burning at the back of his throat.

Jason kisses away the pearl of precome on the tip of Tim’s cock, and Tim whines, wants more even though he won’t ask for it. His body tries to arch upward as Jason licks him and swallows around him, but Jason’s hands anchor him against the couch, setting the pace. Maybe Tim  _will_  have bruises later, and that thought has his toes curling into the denim on Jason’s hips.

Jason’s head bobs up and down, first slow then quick, so Tim can never predict him, can never get used to the feeling. Spit dribbles down his chin, and when Tim reaches down to wipe it, Jason’s eyes lock with his. They trap him there, and his hand falls between them, but Jason catches it. Catches Tim like he always does, and he wraps both of their hands around the base of Tim’s cock.

 _Show me_ , the gesture asks.  _Show me how you like it_.

Tim’s voice rises in his chest and echoes around the room as he forms a tight circle around himself, with his index and middle fingers and thumb. He slides it up and down and sometimes Jason’s lips meet him in the middle and it’s one of the hottest things he’s seen or felt.

Heat coils tightly in the pit of his stomach, and Tim throws his head back against the armrest. He screws his eyes shut around the tears beading in his eyes from the immense pleasure.

When Jason’s other hand cups and squeezes his balls, Tim comes without warning. He shouts and his hips thrust up into Jason’s mouth.

It’s so obscene, the way he sucks and hollows his cheeks around Tim’s aching member. He swallows every drop, and when he pulls off with a small  _pop_ , a string of spit and come keeps him attached to Tim. He licks it away, and Tim feels completely drained. It’s like an out of body experience, and he’s sitting upside down on the ceiling, watching Jason watching him.

With shaky arms, he pushes himself up. When his body almost gives, Jason catches him, and they kiss. His lips are slick and slip against Tim’s, but it’s easy to slide their tongues together. It tastes salty and it tastes like  _him_ , and a moan shudders out of Tim’s body before Jason swallows it.

Sometimes, this is what Jason needs— to have Tim so deep in his veins he won’t be able to get him out, and Tim understands. Because— because sometimes, what Tim needs is to give this, be this for Jason.

 _I’m here_.

He doesn’t say it, never has to, because his hands weave it into Jason’s hair, his breath washes it over tanned skin.

And it’s as good as  _I love you_  for the two of them.


End file.
